


Poor

by BlueWingedAngel



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, modern!AU, poverty!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 12:33:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3249845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueWingedAngel/pseuds/BlueWingedAngel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy is living an impoverished life, trying to provide for himself and his sister when he meets Clarke on a bus.</p><p>(Written for prompt #30. Poor from my 100 prompts table for the 100.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poor

He’s shivering with cold as he makes his way down the street, snow clinging to his hair and a small bundle under his coats, protected from the frost. There’s a man following him, anger in his footsteps, and Bellamy keeps his head down until he’s on the bus, secreted away at the back and still holding the bundle close.  

A girl sits next to him, hair blonde and body smelling nice, like perfume or at least soap clinging to her skin after a long shower.  

“Are you okay?” she checks and he shuffles away a little. 

“I’m fine,” he says.  

She nods, looking out of the window. 

“What’re you doing riding the bus?” he says after a moment.  

She looks around at him. “My car broke down,” she says with a big smile. “Honestly, I’m not sure I got on the right bus. I’ll have to make sure at the next stop...” 

He eyes her. It’d cost him the last dollars in his pocket to get on the bus. “What if you got on the wrong one?” 

“I’ll just find the right one.” She smiles at him. 

“Ah.” He looks ahead, pulls the warmth below his coat closer. 

“Are you okay?” she says. “You look cold.” 

Because he  _is_  cold, he wants to yell, but pride keeps his words choked down to his stomach. “I’m fine.” 

“Here.” She pulls her scarf off - blue like her eyes, he notes - and she wraps it around his neck. He jerks in an instinctive panic response, then relaxes into the sweet-smelling warmth of it.  

“Thanks.” He looks sideways at her. “Aren’t you cold now?” 

“I’m warmer than you are.” She looks out of the window and he realises she saw how thin he is, how little meat there is on his bones. 

All his money goes into rent and keeping the heat on and...  

“I have a heat source,” he complains and he finds his usually jovial attitude returning somewhat in her presence. “See?” He opens his coat a little and he has a big loaf of freshly made bread tucked away with no bag, like he’d taken it right out of an oven. 

Which... he had.  

She puts her hand near but not on it. “You’re right, that is warm,” she says and smiles his way. “I might take my scarf back.” 

“Please don’t,” is out of his mouth before he can stop it.  

“I was kidding,” she said. “I do want it back though so...” She scrabbles a piece of paper from her pocket, a notepad, and writes down a number, offering it out. “You should call me. I can give it back over coffee. My treat.” 

Coffee sounds so nice. Hot.  

“Maybe I can buy you a sandwich too.” She smiles at him and he takes the paper between two fingers, nervous and a little jittery.  He can face down a crowd full of angry men but one girl on a bus is making him fidget.  

“Yeah, I’ll...” He tucks the paper away, planning to stick it in the trash later or burn it for warmth. “Thanks.” 

The bus rounds a corner and he’s already looking for home, for his stop. It’ll be a long walk back from there, but it’s always worth it because his apartment gets closer with every step.  

The girl nods and smiles. “I’m Clarke Griffin,” she says. 

“Bellamy,” he replies, looking across at her. “Blake,” he adds as an afterthought. 

“I think I’ve seen you around school,” she says. “Not always though.” 

And oh.  

 _Oh_  she’s Clarke Griffin. She’s the doctor’s daughter who’s always trying to break up fights and save people from themselves. She’s the girl who petitioned for better lunch meals (denied) and more wheelchair ramps (denied) and better facilities for handicapped students (denied) and cleaner bathrooms (denied, yick).  

“Oh,” he says aloud. “Uh... I work a lot. I skip.” 

She nods. “Where do you work?” 

“Just... around.” He works at a shop, he serves people for a living, to put food on the table and feed his family. He’s done other things for a living, too. “SaverMart.” 

“The one by the school?” she says. 

“No.” He fidgets a little more. The bread is going cold and he wanted so badly to bring warm food home. “The one by---” He doesn’t finish. 

“By?” she says. 

She doesn’t know where the other one is, why would she? She’s the type to shop at the big stores, not the cheap ones, if she even does her own shopping. Bellamy’s just grateful for his employee discount.  

“By the strip clubs.” He eyes her.

“Oh. I don’t go there.” She doesn’t seem flustered. “My mom’s a doctor.” Like she thinks it’ll explain why she doesn’t go there, while informing him she’s not a prude. 

Well, she is. 

“That’s okay.” He looks out of the window as the bus comes to a halt. “I’ll, uh...” He gets up. “Get your scarf back to you as soon as I can.” 

He’s by the door by the time it opens and when he steps out a smiling face, all wrapped up in more clothes than he knew she owned, greets him. “Bell!” she says and he hops off the bus to meet her. 

“Octavia, what’re you doing out in the cold? You should be at home in the warmth,” he says but joins her as she starts to walk home. 

“I didn’t want you to have to walk home alone,” she says and smiles, looping an arm around his. 

He considers this, then produces the bread. “Here... share this with me.” 

She grins at him and pulls a chunk off like she’s done before, starting to eat the warm bread. “I was so hungry,” she admits and his stomach lurches because he’s not taking care of her well enough.  

“I... Do you want all of it?” he says. 

She eyes him. “I can’t eat all of that,” she said. “A bit is enough for me. I skipped lunch for practice and I’m just...  _starving_.” She smiles at him and he wonders if she skipped so she wouldn’t have to pay for a school meal. “How was your day?” 

He wraps an arm around her shoulders and she presses into his side, instinctively searching out his warmth in the cold. “I met a girl on the bus. Clarke Griffin.” 

She chokes on bread and he grins a bit because yeah, he finds it choke-worthy too. “Clarke Griffin takes the bus?!” she exclaims. “Tell me  _everything!_ ” 

So he does, the two of them walking the long way home in the snow and the ice, warmer for each other’s company. 


End file.
